


One Girl None the Better

by LadySilver



Series: X, or Crossovers that I'm Not Going to Write [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fan_flashworks, Crossover, Crossovers by LS, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/LadySilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia gets Chosen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Girl None the Better

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fic-a-thon hosted by portions_forfox based on the prompt: "One girl in all the world, destined to blah, blah, blah. There were going to be unsightly callouses in her future, Lydia could tell," and for the fan_flashworks challenge: The Lost Hour (the story was written in exactly 1 hour).

Ms. Morell just won’t leave her alone. Usually people are a lot quicker than this to get the message when Lydia doesn’t have time for them, unless they’re named Stiles, but he’s, like, practically the exception that proves the rule, and yes she is using that phrase correctly. Lydia huffs out a sigh and examines her nail polish for chips, in lieu of anything more intellectual to do. 

Even so, she does not have time for this, she thinks as she clacks her way out of math class and to the guidance office where Ms. Morell is no doubt sitting with another easily manipulated psych test. How many times can she answer butterfly before Morell gets the hint?

When she gets to Guidance, Lydia is sent right into the office, no waiting. The hope that this might be a short visit crumbles when she sees that Ms. Morell is not alone. There’s an older man with peppered brown hair standing behind her, wearing the most heinous tweed coat she’s ever seen.

“This is the one,” Ms. Morell says. Ms. Morell, who is a half-time Guidance Counselor and half-time French teacher, proves her creepiness when she adds, “I have been watching her for some weeks.” Morell’s French-Canadian inflections grate on Lydia, as always, because the school should be teaching her Parisian French, but honestly, it’s not like she’s ever had high expectations of her formal education. 

The man pushes his glasses higher up his nose and peers at her through them. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he speaks, and Lydia perks up at hearing the Oxford in his voice, the most class this school has ever had. And, OK, maybe she is a tiny bit smitten, not that she’ll ever admit it. “Though, I had hoped for someone a bit more…” he trails off at a slight shake from Ms. Morell’s head. “Well, looks have deceived before. Very well.”

The man gestures for Lydia to sit down. She gets as far as the chair, then takes up a posture with one hand on her jutted hip. If she had gum, she’d smack it for good measure. She still does not have time for this, no matter how good looking certain people are. The sooner everyone realizes it, the better.

Ms. Morell makes introductions and then Mr. Giles, as that’s who the man is, asks one of the worst questions she’s ever heard: “You must be wondering why you’re here.”

Lydia raises her eyebrows and scoffs. “Not really,” she says. “Can I go now? You’re making me miss math and there’s a midterm tomorrow.” She doesn’t bother to mention that she already understands the material in today’s lecture and she is absolutely certain that she’ll ace the test, no matter what kind of trick questions the teacher tries to include.

“What Mr. Giles needs to tell you is more important that math,” Ms. Morell says. Lydia’s about to scoff again, but there’s a hardening in the set of Morell’s face that makes Lydia flinch back. Where Morell had been an unassuming teacher before, now she looked powerful. Dangerous.

Taking that as his cue, Mr. Giles starts to talk. Lydia’s kind of entranced by his accent at first and isn’t really paying attention to what he says until the word vampires falls from his mouth. She rewinds the monologue in her head and tries to make sense of what was said. On the one hand, it doesn’t. Not one bit. Then she starts to plug in the goings on in Beacon Hills and parts of the speech start sounding less implausible, which is a real problem because she knows that there’s no way none of any of it could be true. She’d read everything the library hand on astrology and alchemy and cryptozoology back in middle school and concluded quite easily that it was all bunk.

Mr. Giles is peering at her again, this time over the tops of his glasses, as if he is expecting a response. Lydia flips her long hair over her shoulder. “One girl in all the world, destined to blah, blah, blah,” she snarks. “Happy?”

Mr. Giles takes off his glasses and cleans them with a handkerchief that had been folded into the pocket of his coat. When he puts them back on, his eyes are shining with emotion. “I believe we’ll get along wonderfully,” he says, turning to Ms. Morell.

“Yes, I think you’ve been well-prepared for this Slayer,” Morell agrees. “Now, If you don’t mind, I’d like to share a few words of wisdom with her.” She crosses to the door and opens it, indicating for Mr. Giles to leave. “Alone, please.”

Giles hesitates for a long second, then concedes the room with a nod. Ms. Morell closes the door behind him, the click loud in the anticipatory silence. Taking the seat behind her desk, she crosses her arms over the wooden surface. “The duties of a Vampire Slayer are not to be taken lightly,” she begins.

Lydia finally allows herself to drop into the chair. A glance at the clock on the wall confirms that she’s going to have to make time for this, since it appears that the fate of the world is in her hands, or something equally inane. That thought draws Lydia’s attention to her fingernails, which she once again examines for chips. 

She takes a moment to admire the pristine lacquer, sensing that she’ll never again get to see her fingernails be so flawless, nor her hands so smooth. She’d always known she was destined for something special, but this? It’s not enough that she’s now tasked with ridding the world of the forces of darkness, oh no. There are unattractive callouses in her future, Lydia can just feel it. She makes a mental note to ask Ms. Morell about a good manicurist, figuring that anyone who has served as a Slayer as long as Morell has to know _all_ the tricks, and Lydia wouldn’t deign to learn from anyone else.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Potential](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4510206) by [raktajinos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raktajinos/pseuds/raktajinos)




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